Stare Not
by arctique48
Summary: ‘Central London rocked as major muggle station is wrecked in what could be a fresh wave of attacks’. The calm before the storm is over. DHr


**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc belongs to JKR.**

**AN:** Same characters - because I'm lazy, same themes - because I'm tired, and much the same style - because I'm unoriginal.

-

It was grey. The sky was grey, the buildings were grey, even the chewing gum stuck to the floor at her feet was grey. She picked up her pace, walking faster along the riverfront to the bridge where commuters stood isolated in a crowd within the foyer of the station. No different to any drizzly evening in the city really, but all the same she found herself sighing.

London was never really the friendliest of places; notorious for it's rude occupants and silent journeys, it was possible to work for years opposite a person an perhaps never even know their name, or so her aunt would tell her. But in recent months it had grown far worse. This wasn't the silence of indifference; it was the silence of fear.

She pushed her way past a man in a beige trench coat, looking no different to any of the other men waiting for their trains home; he practically recoiled at the touch and she moved on, easing her way through the crowd to get a decent look at the timetables.

Shrugging off her backpack to fish out her ticket she frowned up at the boards. The next train was at 18:43, nearly an hour off, the only one listed below a string of cancellations flashing red. Brow creased in confusion she glancing back down at her watch and weighed up the odds of her making it back on time. It didn't look too hopeful.

She'd have dearly loved to have been able to step around a corner and simply apparate home, but in current times that was no longer an option. It was two years since the death of Dumbledore and the situation had grown only steadily worse. It had taken a long time for the Minister to admit the severity of the situation, but when he had one of the first things that happened was the banning of apparation and port-keys. The uproar it caused was huge and in some cases violent, but on the whole she had to admit that it had worked. The ban was blanket, enforced not with fines and imprisonment but with a magical force field that simple prevented the spells taking place; the wizarding people had had no choice. For almost a year they'd kept it up and it was effective, Death Eater attacks had slowed a huge degree at first while they struggled to meet, but somehow they were finding ways of getting around it, and the results could be seen taking their toll on the faces of the ordinary people around her.

Beyond the occasional dismayed gasp from the newcomers witnessing the cancellations there was no human sound within the building; no one trusted anyone else enough to start conversations. Looking up at the board she watched as the 18:43 flickered and then flashed up with 'cancelled' as well. There was a groan from the waiting commuters, one man throwing his newspaper to the ground in frustration; the crash it made was easily enough to dissolve the brief sense of shared irritation and instantly everyone was back to minding his or her own business very pointedly, looking slightly ruffled at the loud noise. Shaking her head she shouldered her bag again, grateful to be out of the oppressive tension of the station.

Flitting through the address book on her phone she mused silently on the quietness on the street. The difference in behaviour out doors was far more subtle. It would take the untrained eye perhaps a few minutes to work out what it was that was off. But then it would strike you – the lack of tourists, the lack of the little booths that lined the roads selling union jacks and pictures of the Queen. And would could blame them? This was hardly a holiday destination anymore. The government had tried to keep it hushed up, but sooner or later the death tolls were recognised by the rest of the world. Britain was no longer a safe place to travel.

"Harry?" she muttered into the mouthpiece, eyes downcast as a pair of women hurried past her nervously.

There was a brief reply from the other side of the line.

"There's a blockage up at Charing Cross. Trains being cancelled up 'til seven. I'm not sure what to make of it, but I can't help thinking it's suspicious."

She turned sharply down a side road to avoid a hoard of protesters brandishing placards.

"Sorry, could you repeat that- Another one of those bloody demonstration things. Finally figured Westminster isn't going to listen to them so they're are bothering us with their complaints."

She looked over her shoulder; they seemed to be heading up the Strand. Just what those silent commuters needed, probably, a bunch of muggle students chanting about their rights.

"What were they wearing? What's that got to do with anything? I dunno. Black?"

She slowed as she neared the river again.

"Merlin, Harry, they were just a group of angry muggle-"

Then she froze.

"Oh god."

Heart hammering she felt her phone arm falling from her ear, turning slowly to look back at the station.

The mob-roar of the protesters' chant was could easily be heard over the traffic, especially with no trains leaving the station to help mask it. She couldn't make out the words, but she didn't have to. They meant nothing. A decoy. Horror seeping into her features she broke into a run, slamming the phone back to her ear and practically shouting, "Back up! Harry, I need back up! Charing Cross Station!"

The pounding of her feet reverberated in her head as she threw herself back in the direction of the station. She couldn't hear the chanting anymore but her wand was in her hand and she was muttering charms to speed her up-

She rounded the corner and in the same second a sound tore its way through her head and back again, knocking the air from her lungs and the ground from her feet. She blinked and in a dizzying moment she was on her back, watching as in slow-motion the car park erupted in a ball of red flame.

Silence.

This time it was complete. Then a dull buzz peppered with distressed screams. People were running past her – towards the station – and she wanted to tell them not to but her voice wouldn't work. Someone pulled her to her feet, brushing her off, asking if she was alright-

And she wasn't. She wasn't alright. She was trembling and running again, shouting at people to stay back and they weren't listening.

Hysteria.

Not hers but that somehow made it worse. There was blood. On the walls and on the floor. And it wasn't like the movies, because no movie had ever been made about magical terrorism. This wasn't natural fire – it was the fire of crucio, made real and lingering and the screams were so sharp she heard them in her toes.

There was no roof, she noted dumbly - snapping out spells to keep the building standing - it had fallen, but where? The smoke was rising and curling and she saw the black forms of the protesters slinking out, over the tracks. She wanted to chase them, but a woman was bleeding at her feet and first and foremost her job was to heal. She closed the wounds and when she looked back they were gone. Escaped.

Above her smoke was writhing and the muggles were sobbing at the sight. She would have sobbed too were the situation any less urgent. There was a wizard by the clock, dressed in robes and looking fit to puke – but he was doing as she was, closing wounds and trying to reassure the people around him. He caught her eye and nodded, she thought maybe she recognised him but there was no time to dwell on it and she moved on to the next person, nodding her thanks to the muggle who hauled the newly healed body out of the wreckage.

There were sirens and the paramedics were charging in, policemen behind them, roaring instructions of calm through a megaphone. She stopped healing wounds– leaving it to the ambulances. The purple robed wizard was crying when he came to help her put out the magical fires and she recognised him then. He was young. She'd seen him at Hogwarts maybe. Ravenclaw rang a bell.

Turning around she felt a shuddering breath leave her. The smoke had stopped twisting and the muggles had stopped working to look at it in horror. If there had been any doubt left in anybody's mind about the origins of the attack it would have broken then. The Dark Mark. Rancid green-black against the grey of the sky. She shivered.

Dropping to her knees she began healing again, ignoring the looks of terror she and the crying Ravenclaw were getting. She'd watched twelve people die by the time Harry dashed in to meet her. Twelve people in two minutes.

He dropped his Firebolt when he reached her, pulling her into a hug.

"The others are coming," he murmured, "And this isn't your fault."

She didn't say anything and silently led him to where she'd seen the bombers escape.

-

"We need to find a more immediate method of response."

"The Floo has completely crumbled. It's not safe to use, and besides any muggle with any sense had boarded up their fireplaces with lead."

"Talking of which we've got to find a more effective way of getting through to them. Do you have any idea how many people are still convinced Voldemort etc is a branch of Al Quieda? They're investing in bulletproof glass and bomb detectors when they should be boarding up their fireplaces with lead. It's ridiculous. They think it's a joke."

Hermione smiled weakly at Mrs Weasley as she accepted her tea. Looking back over to where Bill and Shaklebolt were speaking she said, "There's a big thing about lead being poisonous in the muggle world. Families aren't too keen about lining their houses with it."

"It's the families that are most at risk!" exclaimed Bill. "It's the cheapest material that can withstand magic, lead poisoning is really the least of their troubles right now."

"Anyway, back to the point in hand," cut in Kingsley, "Faster brooms?"

"Harry's Firebolt got him there five minutes late," offered Hermione, flicking through the _Prophet_ with a neutral expression. '_Central London rocked as major muggle station is wrecked in what could be a fresh wave of attacks'._

"Then what about the stuff they had going in Mysteries? Teleportation? Any leads on that?"

"You know the moment they come up with anything the Ministry will disable it. They can't risk giving the Death Eaters more mobility."

"They won't necessarily find out-"

"They always do. We can't put faith in their incompetence, it's failed us one too many times…"

Hermione sighed; with the ban on apparation it was a constant arms race between them and the Dark Side. At first the Death Eaters had really struggled with communications, especially when the Floo Network collapsed, but they'd been picking up recently and their newfound mobility was showing itself in the news. The attacks were still small, but they were concentrated in significant areas – areas guaranteed to get press coverage, London for instance. The explosion she'd witnessed was the first large attack in a muggle-populated area since the reality of the war had been revealed to the muggle public. She was dreading the calls from her parents when they got hold of a newspaper.

She looked back over at Bill and Kingsley. Things had changed a hell of a lot since Hogwarts had closed.

-

**AN:** I know it's short, but I'd really like some feedback if anyone's got the time. Lol – it's largely inspired by having watched _Children of Men_ last week with the whole future wartime Londonness, but it does have a vague plot and should end up dramione (largely out of habit but what the hey). But yeah. Wondering what anyone thought (besides 'finish the stories you've already got'). I kinda wanted to do something AU but not completely so I just fast-forwarded it a bit so now it's futuresque.


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